Please Read the Terms and Conditions (before you hurt yourself)
by Izaranna
Summary: 'Tony may have had a drinking problem, but at least he didn't have other problems. Apart from that smoking one a few months ago. And that one time he blacked out in Amsterdam. Fuck, maybe he'd have to clean house if this was going to work.' In which Tony has a baby, and is most definitely not ready. But fuck over-preparation. Pre-Ironman. Previously Madly Mathematical.
1. Krystal with a K

**Summary: 'Tony may have had a drinking problem, but at least he didn't have other problems. Apart from that smoking one a few months ago. And that one time he blacked out in Amsterdam. Fuck, maybe he'd have to clean house if this was going to work.' In which Tony has a baby, and is most definitely not ready. But fuck over-preparation. Pre-Ironman.**

 **A/N: Okay, this is me trying to get back into writing. We'll see how this goes. I've read enough bad Tony-has-a-baby to know how to hopefully not write one. Begins pre-Ironman and will probably go on until post-Homecoming. Haven't quite decided yet. I'm basing this story off the opinion that Tony is 42 in 2012 when Avengers takes place. I hope you enjoy this? Let me know.**

* * *

After the fifth shot of tequila, Tony's genius mind was telling him it was time to leave.

After the twentieth shot, it was dancing the conga with Marie Curie and George Washington, singing ACDC's Big Balls to the beat of the national anthem.

Being a veteran drunk meant Tony's liver was pleading for mercy in a wheezy falsetto, and his stomach was graciously reminding him that alcohol wasn't the best substitute for actual food two days in a row, and his eyes had just found nirvana.

Also, he couldn't really hear anything, because he could hear _everything_.

The clink of glasses five tables away, the buzz of a phone from the DJ booth, the slish of a bead of sweat rolling down the side of his temple, and popping gum from the bartender.

Equally, he couldn't see much, but caught glimpses of the bouncer's shiny bald head between the gyrating bodies, long red fingernails rolling a yellow cocktail umbrella absentmindedly next to him, a fly making its way to one of the drinks five metres away from him, and Krystal with a K repeating the same story about something with a something with a blah blah blah thrown in for good measure.

He saw the lips moving in the same pattern, but since he couldn't hear anything except the sound of his own heartbeat and the thundering beat of the music (and Big Balls on repeat), he couldn't tell Krystal with a K to shut the hell up and get _on_ with it.

His patience was, in a word, shot.

Speaking of shots, maybe he should get another one.

Oh, wait, Krystal with a K just stopped talking.

Tony, in the same beat of a heart, wondered whether she'd stopped because she'd run out of breath, mentally assured himself he had a condom _somewhere_ , thought something vague about Rhodey's genocidal tendencies, and had the inkling that maybe his mother would be disappointed in him.

But his mother was dead, so clearly he wasn't drunk enough.

He smashed his mouth against hers, forgot Krystals could even have K's, yanked on some hair, shuffled out of the hot-flashing-noisy-thundering-neon wherever they were straight onto his (or hers, or neither of theirs. At this point, or any point after the fifth jaegar bomb, he couldn't really tell.) car, and fucked each other senseless on the hood.

Ten years later, Tony would wish he remembered what the _fuck_ happened that night, or even _why_. All he could remember was George Washington, and his mother crying.

* * *

Tony Stark was the twenty seven year old CEO of Stark Industries, a billion dollar company mainly focused on weapons manufacturing for the US military, with a few legs in a few other departments. Tony Stark was a certified genius with a narcissistic tilt to his personality, less degrees than he should have and more fired secretaries than was entirely appropriate.

Tony Stark was also one more binge away from having no friends, as Rhodey was kind enough to pointedly tell him at six am on Monday in a parking lot twenty miles away from where he last remembered being.

"I swear, Tony," muttered Rhodey exasperatedly, helping him up. "One of these days, I'll come looking for you and you'll be dead in a puddle of your own vomit."

Tony wanted to moan like a baby, but he thought maybe that wasn't the most appropriate thing to do as a nearly thirty year old. But then he changed his mind because fuck age.

"I thought you liked surprises," he said, without really thinking about it. "Speaking of surprises, you're standing in—"

"Oh my _God_." Rhodey stepped out of the cum he'd been standing in. "Why did I _ever_ sit next to you in Mech?"

Tony almost grinned, but he was pretty sure he might vomit if he did that, and he didn't think Rhodey would appreciate it. "Some might call it fate."

Rhodey gave him an unimpressed look. "I'll fate your _ass_."

Tony winced, the light hurting his eyes. And ears. And face. "Whatever you want, sweetheart."

He tried winking. He succeeded. And then successfully vomited on Rhodey's shoes.

Never let it be said Starks did not succeed, even at things they didn't mean to do.

" _Tony."_

* * *

After experiencing yet another hangover and pointedly not reading the latest economic report for the meeting he was completely late for, Tony had a date with several devils.

He was walking down the hallway on the fifteenth floor of his phallic and snazzy headquarters with Obie on one side and an overworked intern on the other, trying and failing to get him to look at a missive from someone named Lt Gen Donovan. He was too hungover to care, and besides, Rhodey could handle it.

Somehow.

"I just don't see why they don't have a shopping complex. Maybe an online best buy," he said.

Maybe he could let him know telepathically?

"Tony, for the last time," said Obie, trying to maintain his patience. "You can't bulk-buy secretaries. You need to interview them."

Best friends are supposed to have telepathic connections, right?

"What's the point," he whined, "if they run out of batteries in three to four weeks?"

Or was that just twins?

"Hey," he said, whipping to the visibly annoyed intern. "Is it just twins that have telepathy?"

"W-what?"

Tony mentally catalogued the boy's unimpressive coffee-stained white shirt and red cheeks. "Maybe you need the day off. Do you think he needs the day off?" he asked Obie. "Stupid question, of course he needs the day off. What's your name?"

The intern blinked dumbly. "Mr Stark?"

Tony tsked. "No, that's _me_ , and my father, but we don't talk about that. At least not when I haven't had enough alcohol to see in cubes. Your name, freckles."

"Samuel Watson, sir," said the boy, gulping.

Tony raised an eyebrow. Obie sighed. "And what department are you interning for?"

"R&D, sir."

Tony giggled. "Okay, don't tell me. Be that way. Obie, Samuel Watson needs the day off. He looks like he's going to keel over any second now."

Obie exhaled loudly. "That's not my job, Tony. That's your secretary's job."

"But I don't have a secretary. Hey," he said, turning to Watson. "Would you like to be my secretary?"

"Huh?" said the boy.

" _Tony."_

Maybe he and Rhodey _were_ twins. He'd have to check their genealogy. The obvious physical dissimilarities were irrelevant.

"Who's your role model?" he asked, ignoring Obie completely.

The boy blinked. Tony thought he should probably get that checked. "Uh…MLK…?"

Tony contemplated the answer for a nanosecond and deemed it acceptable.

"You're hired."

" _Tony."_

"Obie, he's hired. Can I go now?"

Obie exhaled once more. Tony knew for a fact that he didn't need to get that checked. Hey, what if he could reconfigure thumbprints to bypass security? Of course, he wouldn't necessarily _need_ to bypass security (he had enough green in his pockets, thank you very much), but the point still stood that he _could_.

Potentially.

Maybe.

"Tony, he doesn't have the credentials _at all_ —"

"Great," Tony cut him off. "See you tomorrow, bright and early, Wilson. At two. Pick up my dry-cleaning on the way. Oh, and give yourself the day off. Maybe a manicure."

He timed that last comment to perfectly coincide with the ding of the elevator and et voila, he neatly slotted himself between cool-hair and not-as-pretty-as-me, waving obnoxiously at Obie as the doors slid closed.

The last thing he heard from his new secretary was, "Is he for real?"

What was the Lt Gen's name again?

Jarvis probably knew.

* * *

Tony was knee-deep in a new idea about propulsion and microwaves (the appliance, not the wave itself, though maybe that would work better) when reality beckoned in the form of Indian takeout.

"Sir, Mr Sharma is at the door."

Tony banged his head on the underside of the table, which didn't help the hangover he was nursing.

He was still rubbing his head in a woebegone fashion when he went to open the door after five minutes of actually getting to the door. Mr Sharma, who clearly had IBS and a fascination for cat memes if his face was anything to go by, was waiting patiently.

"How are you today, Mr Stark?" he asked politely, not expecting a reply.

Tony shrugged, tipped him with the money Jarvis had reminded him to take, grabbed his korma and slammed the door shut.

He wasn't good at talking while thinking, at least not with mediocre middle school dropouts who stank of chutney.

Smalltalk was beyond him.

(Not that anything was beyond Tony Stark, but hyperbole was his life, so fuck off.)

He then went back to his happy place/panic room/lab and worked till the sun rose two days later.

The korma had gone cold.

* * *

The problem with sitting down and actually ingesting food, Tony tried valiantly to not-realise, was that he had to pause.

And with the pause came the silence.

He could hear his own chewing, which was irritating, but mostly sad.

So he drank, because sadness equals drinking, _obviously_.

But then drinking alone was pathetic, so he went to one of the many pubs open for his perusal at _any_ time of day (Happy was his thin-lipped chauffeur and some days he felt mildly guilty, but mostly he could ignore that in favour of nursing yet another massive hangover).

Sometimes, he bypassed the eating altogether because he _knew_ what would happen.

Invariably, Rhodey or Happy or Obie would find him, Jarvis would be passive-aggressive for a while, he'd be productive and ignore the media's take on his activities, rinse repeat.

Sometimes he had secretaries who tried to get him to do work and, in a fit of short-tempered hubris, he'd fire them, thinking he didn't need one.

Then Obie would line up some poor fools, he'd maybe interview them, maybe he wouldn't (depended on several factors, not least of which was exactly how pissed Rhodey was at him that week), and then he'd have another one.

He didn't really bother to learn their names. He was on secretary #57. Jarvis had a special list.

The only thing that _changed_ in his life were his ideas, his liver problems, his alcohol tolerance, and the projects he worked on.

Tony would like to say he was bored. Maybe a small part of him was.

Maybe the part that sat at home and couldn't name more than three people that would _really_ care if he died.

But it was a small part, because he was Tony Stark, and the world was his playground.

* * *

It was the winter of 1997, and it was the one time he bothered to learn the name of his secretary.

Her name was Edith Coldman and she had a hitherto unnecessary love for blue lipstick. She was his secretary for two full weeks, which was a new low even for him.

He only remembers her because she'd screamed like a banshee and promptly had a nervous breakdown on the fifteenth of November.

There was a lawsuit and etcetera, but not the point.

The point was that the fifteenth of November was literally any other day, meaning it was a blur of thoughts, shapes, sounds and takeout.

Edith was trying to tell him that he had a meeting to get to, and he didn't care so he was anagramming the lyrics of Bohemian Rhapsody out loud and playing the 1812 overture at the same time to piss her off.

Yes, he sometimes impressed even himself.

He got to the cannon part when the doorbell rang.

Edith cut herself off abruptly, and Tony was confused. He hadn't ordered takeout, he wasn't expecting anyone, and anyone who would pop by for a surprise visit had a key.

"Jarvis?"

"Sir, there appears to be a lady at the door with a baby. I would advise calling an ambulance."

Edith was chewing her blue lips. In hindsight, maybe that lipstick was to blame for her mental fragility.

"Do I call an ambulance, Mr Stark?" she asked.

Tony sighed. He needed to hire good help at some point. He'd make a note of that.

And as he made it he knew he wouldn't act on it, because if it was something he would actually do, he'd tell Jarvis to make a note of it.

"Go get the door first and then make a judgement call. You know, use those credentials that got you this job."

Edith stammered. "Y-You hired me because I brought you extra napkins at McDonalds."

Tony didn't remember that. He'd take her word for it.

"Potentially dying woman on my front lawn, Susan," he reminded her.

"It's Edith," she mumbled before scuttling off to get the door.

A moment later, she came back, face pale. "She says she's Krystal with a K?"

Tony was drawing a blank. "Is that supposed to mean something?"

Edith took this moment to pass out.

"Fuck. Jarvis, call an ambulance."

"Right away, sir."

Tony took it upon himself to go to the door, where a woman stood clutching a baby fiercely. The baby's head was bleeding.

Tony didn't think that was a good thing.

"I can't keep her," said presumably Krystal with a K without preamble. "My dad'll kill us both. Do whatever you want with her, I don't care, good bye."

With that, she put the baby on the _ground_ and walked off to the beat-up car that was waiting for her.

When the ambulance drove up to his property and brought a stretcher, he was still standing there, confused as all hell, staring at an injured baby girl with unhealthily pale skin.

When the EMTs took her away, the world paused.

He didn't like pauses.

* * *

 **Any critcism? Feel free to let me know!**


	2. Pot with two Ts

**Summary: 'Tony may have had a drinking problem, but at least he didn't have other problems. Apart from that smoking one a few months ago. And that one time he blacked out in Amsterdam. Fuck, maybe he'd have to clean house if this was going to work.' In which Tony has a baby, and is most definitely not ready. But fuck over-preparation. Pre-Ironman.**

 **I get the feeling I should probably tell you that most of this story is just Tony being Tony, and learning to be a little bit better. Oh, and Infinity War has killed me. RIP my soul.**

 **Also, my fact of the day: Tony's not very good with names. So Edith is Susan, and Sally. Krystal is Krissy. Tony's not her dad.**

* * *

Tony's secretary had an IV drip, which wouldn't have really meant anything except whoever had done it was a moron and she was bleeding slightly. Nothing a tiny bandage wouldn't have fixed.

Apparently, she had anaemia, go figure.

But the problem was that the minute she regained consciousness, she did the aforementioned screeching like a banshee, took one look at his face and had a nervous breakdown, calling him all manner of tasteless words and repeating every three breaths that she "QUIT!"

Then she started hyperventilating. At this point, the nurses showed up and tried to calm her down.

He was pushed out of the room, where he bumped into Rhodey.

"What happened, Tony?" he asked hurriedly, looking like he'd run all the way here. "You didn't say much on the phone."

Tony looked at him blankly. "I think my circuitry is fried," he confided.

Rhodey grabbed his arm and steered him towards a chair. "Okay, sit down, take a deep breath, and tell me what happened."

Tony ran a hand through his hair. "Okay, so there was a meeting with the board regarding shipment details from our South African branch that I was avoiding, and when I was in the middle of avoiding it, this woman decided to show up with a baby and, I don't know, just dumped it on the ground and fucked off. Jarvis called an ambulance because my secretary fainted—"

"Whoa, back up, why'd she faint?" asked Rhodey, motioning one of the housekeeping for a glass of water.

Tony shrugged. "Probably because the baby was bleeding. Looked like someone hit it in the head. Anyway, so the ambulance arrived—"

"Is the baby okay?" asked Rhodey.

Tony gave him the stink eye. "If you'd let me _finish_ , you'd know that the doctors think the baby'll be just fine but my lawyers think that Susan has enough medical complications that she could file a pretty convincing lawsuit."

"Who the hell is Susan?" asked Rhodey, nodding at the orderly that handed him a paper cup. "Drink this."

Tony took it from him and drank. Water was a brilliant invention. "My secretary, keep up."

"I thought her name was Melissa?" said Rhodey, trying to process. "Why did the woman bring the baby to you?"

"Who the fuck is Melissa?" he asked. Had Jarvis been there, he'd tell him that that was his previous secretary. "And no, I don't know. Which is why I'm getting a paternity test done."

Rhodey's mouth went dry. " _What?"_

Tony shrugged again. "She said I was supposed to know her. Well, Sally said I was supposed to know her."

Rhodey pinched the bridge of his nose to stave off the headache. "Who's Sally?"

Tony ignored this stupid question. "And, I mean, not exactly the most farfetched thing in the world. And who names their child Krystal anyway? And why a K? Why would you even introduce yourself like that?"

Rhodey really regretted sitting next to Tony in Mechanics 101. Really he did.

"The dad's abusive, by the way. Don't even know her last name but Jarvis could probably do facial recognition."

Rhodey said in a small voice, "I thought you thought you were the dad?"

Tony gave him a long condescending look. "Do I _look_ like Krissy's dad?"

"Who's Krissy?"

Tony needed new friends.

* * *

"Mr Stark?"

Tony was reading a very boring magazine in the waiting room, which is the only reason he responded so promptly. "That's me. How's the kid?"

The doctor gave him a smile. "Luckily the blunt force trauma wasn't severe. She's on the mend and hopefully will be discharged within the week."

Tony pointed at a pamphlet one of the paediatricians had handed him an hour ago when he'd pestered him enough. "That thing is horrible for calming people down, by the way. I was expecting motor functional problems and apnea. Prolonged vegetative state, behavioural changes, cerebral palsy, skull deformities, some sort of seizure—"

"She was lucky. It was a glancing blow." The doctor gave him another reassuring smile. "You can see her for yourself if you like."

Tony nodded. "Might as well. I have nothing better to do."

In point of fact, he had several things to be doing, but if that baby was dead and this doctor was lying to him—

Whoa. Howard was paranoid. Tony was _not_. He could totally trust people.

Totally.

They went down several hallways and reached a private room (hey, Tony had money, so why the fuck not use it?) where the baby was lying on a pink blanket, machinery beeping out her vitals.

"You sure that's not a coma?" he asked. That pamphlet was _horrifying._

The doctor gave him another calm smile. "I'm positive, Mr Stark," she said gently. "Now if you'll excuse me, I have other patients to get to. If you need anything, the nurse's station is along the hallway to the right."

Tony waved her off, absentmindedly noting that down in the part of his brain where all useless information was stored.

He gingerly walked closer.

It was too quiet here.

"You know," he said out loud, just to hear a voice, "the doctors say you're only a week old? Yeah, that's weird. You're not supposed to be in hospital this quick. I mean, I never was, and that's a sort of precedent, don't you think? Oh, and apparently you were born in this hospital, and your name is Maddison Miles. But, you know, since your mom's disowned you, it's just Maddison."

The baby stirred at his voice, and he held his breath.

She stopped moving again.

"I don't even like kids," he whispered. "They're messy and annoying and loud and demanding and, and, well, my world doesn't have a place for a baby. You're just gonna have to suck it up in an orphanage. It won't be that bad. Bet you'll be a looker, and you can probably get by on that alone. And if you really are my kid, you probably have at _least_ two brain cells to knock together, so you'll be fine."

The baby's eyelids fluttered open and she started wiggling.

Tony's world paused for that tiny moment.

"Just fine."

* * *

The paternity test obviously came out positive.

Obviously.

Rhodey looked like he might start yelling or develop an ulcer or _both_ , and Obie was busy trying not to burst a blood vessel.

"I thought we agreed, Tony," he said, voice strained. "You can't take care of yourself, let alone a baby. The orphanage is the best solution for all parties involved."

Tony ignored him completely and signed the legal documents after having read it thoroughly.

Okay, so maybe he did have trust issues.

"I have it on good authority that the place smells like anchovies. What if Maddy's allergic?"

Rhodey chose this moment to ask, "Who's your source? Which orphanage? You've _nicknamed_ her? You can't even pop the childlock on the pickle jar, man!"

Tony stuck his tongue out at him maturely.

"So I'll hire a nanny," he said. "And Rhodey'll help me."

Rhodey shook his head emphatically. "Nuh-uh, Rhodey will _not_ be helping."

Obie wiped the sweat off his brow with his stripy hanky. "What about foster care?"

He turned around to the both of them and said, "She's a Stark, and I'm not going to give her abandonment issues if I can help it. Even Howard wasn't that cruel. He waited till I was twelve."

He ignored the fact that he was completely unequipped to raise a child. He ignored the fact that several large parts of him were petitioning to send him to a mental asylum for this idiotic move.

Because a small part of him was the happiest it had ever been.

* * *

The logistics of raising a child were something Tony had never had to contemplate before, so this was going to be a fun journey.

As a celebrity, he'd had to hold a couple of babies here and there, so he had that going for him. But diapers? Baby powder?

He'd seen a movie with a baby in it once.

This was going to be harder than he thought.

"Jarvis," he said the minute he came home from his lawyer's office. "Give me everything you can about raising a child."

The internet had only been fully commercialised in the US two years ago. There shouldn't have been these many sites on baby-raising. There just shouldn't have been.

But he was Tony Stark, which meant he could totally delegate.

"Jarvis," he said. "Make a note: I need a competent secretary."

* * *

In a different universe, he would hire Virginia Potts after Edith Coldman filed a sexual harassment charge against him. She'd, miraculously, stick around.

In this universe, he walked into the interview room, took a look at the five short-listed candidates, and sent two of them home.

Obadiah Stane felt that he needed to ask for future reference. "And what was wrong with them?"

Tony shrugged. "Their teeth were weird."

Which was code for: there are multiple reasons but I don't have the patience to tell you everything that goes on in my head.

At least, Obadiah _hoped_ so.

"So!" said Tony, clapping his hands for emphasis. "You three are the lucky finalists of SI's favourite game show: Tony's Secretary Say What?"

"What."

Tony immediately turned his head to the redhead that had said what with a completely straight face. "Was that a question, sweetheart?" he asked.

She looked at him evenly. "No, sir."

"You have a name?"

The other two looked discomfited but were very good at not showing it. But Tony was better so he could totally see it.

"Virginia Potts, sir," she said calmly.

"Potts. Like chamber pots, or just pot in general?" he mused.

She glibly replied, "The one with two t's."

"Huh." He liked this one.

He turned on his heels and walked out of the interview room. An awkward silence hung over the three candidates and Obadiah.

"A-are we supposed to follow him?" asked the only male candidate.

Obadiah honestly wished he could answer that with any degree of certainty.

"I'm not getting any younger!" called Tony from a distance, which prompted his secretary-hopefuls to scramble after him.

He led them down several corridors, took several loops around the tech analysis department, ran into every dead end he could find, and just when Tony was sure Obie's face couldn't get any more purple, he abruptly turned around to look at his entourage. Potts was flushed, the other female's hair was falling out of her bun, and the male had a ketchup stain from when Tony'd deliberately led him into a filing cabinet.

Obie looked furious, which Tony found more amusing than he should.

Tony took a moment to actually look at his interviewees.

Potts was his favourite at the moment, and looked to be the most competent. Her strawberry blonde hair was tied back in a low ponytail and her choice of black pencil skirt not only pleased the caveman in Tony, but also made her look like someone not to mess with. Oh, and it went with her light blue blouse and made her look less like a board exec, which was good because he went selectively deaf around them.

The other female had gone with a flame-patterned long skirt, which was fine, did more for her figure than Potts' attire did, and she'd paired it with a shoulder-less tie-dyed shirt and gold hoop earrings, which actually made her look eminently fuckable. Any other day he totally would've hired her, and only partially because Obie wouldn't be able to stand him hiring another black woman. She also looked like if he tried anything with her, she'd snap his neck between her curvy thighs, and Tony did like to live life on the edge. But he needed competence this time, not sexiness.

The male _would_ have been his pick, except in the past ten minutes, he'd managed to bump into everything he could've _possibly_ bumped into, _and_ he looked like an orange string bean. It was actually killing him on the inside that this guy had made it through the vetting process.

"Right. First hurdle, kind of like those flaming hoops in the circus. So, first hoop, and please remember, no one likes bad showmanship. And I personally don't like leotards, so maybe steer clear of those too," he rambled, and now he couldn't stop thinking about that one time Mr Jarvis had snuck him out of the house to see the circus.

One of the trapeze artists had got him free cotton candy. Ooh, and there had been this entire troupe of clowns honking each other's noses, and when they saw him they'd honked his too. The weird fortune teller was his favourite though. Sure, he got food poisoning after eating what she'd claimed was carrot cake, but she'd also tried propositioning Mr Jarvis and had shown him how to skin a rabbit. A skill he was sure would come in handy at some point.

He'd sometimes contemplated running away with the circus. Usually after a talk with his dad. Maybe he'd take Maddy to the circus when she was a bit bigger. Maybe she'd love the colours and euphoria just like he had.

" _Tony_ ," Obie hissed, nudging him out of his head.

"Ladies and gentleman," he said, clapping his hands together theatrically. "You have five minutes to find your way back to the interview room. If you don't make it, you can see yourself out. _Starting_ —"

"Wait—"

"Now!"

The male immediately turned around and practically galloped back. Tony could see potential there. Good stamina, at the very least. The female dithered for a few seconds, looked at her watch, looked at him like the world's economic crises were _his_ fault (they weren't, but they could've been. He might've gotten drunk. He did a lot of stupid impossible things when he was drunk.), and then speed-walked to the nearest elevator. Good, at least she had a brain.

But Potts blinked a few times, and the minute the other female had left, she said, "Mr Stark, what's the quickest way back to the interview room?"

Tony was impressed in spite of himself. "Can't tell you, sweetheart. That'd be a lot like cheating and I've taken a blood oath not to do that anymore."

Rhodey had had a weird phase.

Of course, _women_ were a completely different matter. He'd tried commitment once and it definitely hadn't suited him. In fact, just _thinking_ about it made his chest tighten and breathing more difficult.

She turned to Obie and asked him the same question. Before the man could say anything, Tony interrupted. "But, if you answer a few questions, I can tell you a shortcut."

Potts nodded, and Tony asked, "If you had a choice between pulling the plug on forty year old veteran and killing a puppy, which would you pick?"

Now, Tony had no idea what the correct answer was. He just wanted to hear hers. Obie excused himself, likely because he thought Tony was losing his mind again. He'd only contemplated suicide the one (dozen) time, and ever since then, Obie had decided it was better if he removed himself from the situation rather than deal with the mess that was Tony at his lowest.

To be fair to Tony though, being told by what essentially amounted to the only family you had left that there wasn't really any point mourning your parents because you were never that close to them _anyway_ , about two days after their funeral, wasn't really conducive to a healthy reaction.

Even if it _was_ a joke.

Maybe Tony just didn't find Obie's jokes funny. Maybe Obie's jokes just weren't funny. Tony wouldn't know. No one found _his_ jokes funny either.

Miss Potts stared at him in what would have been shock but wasn't, and then said, "I'd refer the decision to someone more qualified. Someone with a medical degree, or a vested interest in dogs."

She said it with a straight face too. He could get behind that.

"Cat person?" he said understandingly. "Cat scratched me once. Not a fan. Of scratching. And cats. Maybe both at the same time, though I'm not sure if the hatred started then or before then. I don't really remember anything before I was five. Must be all the brain damage. I went skydiving once. Or five times. Think I might have killed an oak tree but that might just be—"

"Yes."

"What?"

She cleared her throat. "Yes, I am a cat person. That's question number two."

Tony couldn't stop the smile that creeped onto his face even if he tried. (Well, he could, but that's not the point.)

"You're the type that wears pencil skirts and doesn't swear but was secretly into rock as a kid, aren't you?"

"No, sir," she said with restrained amusement. "My musical tastes weren't ever a secret."

"And what might they be?" he asked, and he realised he was using his flirting voice, which was a problem in more ways than one.

She smiled secretively and leaned in closer. Tony was holding his breath, which wasn't a _first_ , but wasn't really common either.

She whispered, "Irrelevant to the job application."

Hot damn.

"If you turn around and take the third right, and then the second left after that, there'll be a staircase that'll go up two flights of steps. Turn right and you're there."

She smiled at him with as much fakeness she could muster. "Maybe you can take me there, seeing as we're both going in the same direction."

He put on his sunglasses for dramatic effect. "Never said I was going back to the interview room. Only that you had to. Hop to it, Potts."

She looked befuddled. "B-but how are you going to know who you're hiring?"

He was already walking away with Stark Swag™, completely ignoring the one department head who'd been calling his name for a good thirty seconds now. "Oh, that? Eenie meenie minie moe can probably sort that one out. Like all my life decisions. Food for thought, Potts!"

And he was out. Like a superhero, but without the stupid cape, thank you very much.

* * *

He was in his room (for once) and contemplating the futility of life and being fairly optimistic about it when the shipment arrived.

The shipment was fifteen 36"x36"x36" boxes filled with baby supplies, upto and including the entire new Mattel line of Barbies™ and a scrunchy set in all colours of the rainbow.

"Do you think I overprepared?" he asked Jarvis after assembling the fifth crib.

"Never, sir," he responded dryly.

"Once again, your honest opinion is appreciated."

"You're making me blush."

"Oh god, I just realised," he said abruptly, gazing into the distant future with horror. "She's a _girl_."

Even Jarvis paused to wonder at him. "Well done, sir. I thought you'd picked up on it when you bought a dream house and car for the two dozen plastic dolls, but clearly I was expecting too much."

Tony consoled himself the only way he knew how. "They'll be vintage soon." Arguing semantics.

"Of course, sir."

* * *

"You want me to hire a live-in nanny?" asked Potts, who was watching him scoff down a sprinkle donut while _he_ watched _her_ reorganise all the files in his room.

Within the four days she'd been working for him, she'd rebuffed all his advances (both intentional _and_ unintentional, which was new. He was undecided about whether he liked it or not.), actually done her job efficiently, and gotten Obie's approval, which was a hitherto unforeseen miracle.

Hitherto was such an odd word. Did anyone even use that word? Or was that just an essay word?

"Did I stutter?"

Just because she was good didn't mean he had to be nice to her.

She did the thing with her face where she froze it because she was trying to reprocess how difficult he could be. Tony could relate. He had to reprocess the stupidity of the masses all the time.

" _Why_ do you need a live-in nanny?"

Tony gave her an offended look. "To be a nanny—I'm sorry, what did you _think_ I needed her for? I'm a big boy, I can use the potty by myself and everything."

" _Sir_ ," she said through gritted teeth.

Tony thought she was pretty attractive when she was pissy. Made her look less like a stick in the mud.

"My daughter'll need one when I'm at work."

Potts was so shocked she smashed his extremely expensive, irreplaceable paperweight.

"Oh my god, I'm so sorry, I'll clean that—" She was frantic.

Tony found that more adorable than he should.

* * *

He was boarding a helicopter when he remembered to bring up the nanny again.

It was a sunny day in Malibu (like nearly every other day), and Tony felt more justified than usual wearing his sunglasses. The skyline was great, the breeze was mussing his hair up _just_ right, and his ass looked good in the white tailored suit he'd had made in Verona.

All in all, it was perfect conditions to make his new secretary panic.

"Have you found a nanny yet?" he said over the chopper's chopping sounds.

"What?" she yelled, wind whipping her ponytail like a lasso. Maybe he'd go bull-riding at some point on this "business" trip.

"Nanny, Potts!" he said a tad bit louder.

She blinked at him more stupidly than usual. "I thought you were joking about that."

Tony pulled off his glasses and gave her a very serious stare down. "I wasn't joking. Hire me a nanny. Maddy's arriving in two days and I don't know what the _hell_ baby wipes are supposed to do."

He did, but hyperbole was his life.

She gulped. Maybe she thought her job was on the line. Tony would've told her that was absurd because she was by far the best secretary he'd ever had, and they _clicked_ , but they weren't quite ready for the heart-to-hearts just yet. Maybe in a couple more months.

Or years.

Or if he got drunk enough and she happened to be there.

Whichever came first really.

"I'll have one by the time you're back, sir," she promised.

Tony figured it said a lot about her competence that he believed her.

"And she'd better not look like Trunchbull! That woman scarred my soul!"

He did love having the last word.

* * *

 **Thoughts, my fellow humans?**


	3. Maddison Maria

**Summary: 'Tony may have had a drinking problem, but at least he didn't have other problems. Apart from that smoking one a few months ago. And that one time he blacked out in Amsterdam. Fuck, maybe he'd have to clean house if this was going to work.' In which Tony has a baby, and is most definitely not ready. But fuck over-preparation. Pre-Ironman.**

 **Note: I've had time to reflect on it and I've decided that I'm just plain angry about the Loki thing in Infinity War. It was stupidly out of character, what he did. I just...argh! Ahem. Anyway. It's hard to write a baby without falling into cliches. Here's to hoping I did this justice.**

* * *

Just as Tony got ready to go to the hospital to pick up his shiny new to— _baby_ , not toy, he really needed to remember. If he slipped up in front of Obie, or worse, _Rhodey_ , it was hasta la vista baby and _hello_ empty.

That thought made him sad.

"Jarvis, remind me to stop thinking about toys."

"If that is what you want, sir," said Jarvis, and even _he_ sounded bemused. Maybe he needed an upgrade.

 _Anyway_ , just as Tony was leaving to go pick up his daughter (was he even remotely ready for this? Probably not. No, wait, scratch that, _definitely_ not, but since when was he one to doubt himself? Never, _obviously_. God, he was rambling _in his own head_. This was new levels of insane. He wondered if that was genetic.), someone rang the doorbell.

"Who's at the door, Jar?" he asked, tying his left shoelaces. He remembered a time where he'd promised himself it was going to be only Velcro or bust. How times change.

"A man, sir. He appears to be a public defender."

What on earth was a public defender doing at his house?

Tony straightened his moss-green tie (had to look presentable for the cameras, didn't he?) and walked to the door, where Mr PD had begun knocking.

"Keep your shirt on, I'm coming," he drawled, slowing his pace. If the guy was going to be impatient, Tony certainly wasn't above pissing him off.

By the time he got to the door and opened it, Mr PD was red in the face, but that might have just been sunburn. It _was_ pretty hot outside.

"Anything I can help you with?" said Tony with the most unhelpful tone of voice he could muster.

"Mr Stark, I'm Stanley Griffiths from the Barrington Jakewell Law Firm. Are you busy at the moment?" said Stanley, his two chins distracting Tony so thoroughly that not a word of what he said actually processed.

"As a matter of fact, I have somewhere to be, so, bye," he said, stepping past Stanley and shutting his door.

Stanley coughed. "Mr Stark, I'm afraid this is an urgent matter and cannot wait. I understand that you are a busy man but—"

"I'm sorry," said Tony, turning around abruptly and putting his shades on, "did I or did I not say I have somewhere to be? In plain English Mr Grimface, it means I don't give a damn about anything coming out of your mouth. So, if you need me, make an appointment."

And appointment meant he'd have to go through Tony's secretary, which meant that whatever it was would no longer be Tony's problem.

After all, what was the point of being rich if he couldn't delegate his problems?

* * *

 _Speaking_ _of_ _problems_ , thought Tony, _what_ _the_ _fuck_ _is_ _this?_

He'd just gotten into his car and looked over the front page of the New York Times, It was force of habit – after that one time his dad had raked him over the coals about something he'd said in an interview about _something_ that he'd gotten wrong because he hadn't known anything about it, he'd been forced to read the newspaper.

" _You can bullshit, Tony, but not if you don't know the facts."_

Lesson learned. At least look at the front page news.

"Happy," he said, distracting his long-suffering driver. "Correct me if I'm wrong, but there _is_ a war in Iraq right now, right? That we're fighting?"

Happy would have hesitated, but he'd been trained out of it by this point. "Yup."

Tony nodded for dramatic effect. It wasn't like anyone could see him. "Then why is _my_ face on the frontpage when I haven't done anything frontpage worthy in at _least_ two weeks?"

Because it was true, of course.

There Tony was smiling at him from the black and white front of the morning paper. It wasn't a flattering image either. He didn't recall which DUI charge mugshot they'd gotten a hold of (Obie'd had an eventful decade of covering for him), but there he was, looking like the drunk shitfaced asshole he was, holding his serial number like a first prize for the Miss America Beauty Pageant.

Which he should maybe enter at some point. He would _slay_ in heels.

He scanned the headlines, written in bold, and blinked in surprise. Huh. He thought they wouldn't know about this until he released it.

 **TONY STARK A DAD?**

It was that stupid question mark. Why was there a stupid question mark? It was bold, and in his face, and fuck he couldn't do this, even the _newspaper_ was questioning his decisions and—

"Because people love you, sir, and they want to know everything about you," said Happy without the least bit of sarcasm.

Tony breathed. "That's a load of crap and you know it."

"For what it's worth, I think you'll make a great dad," said Happy staunchly, turning a corner and taking a convoluted shortcut to the hospital. "Kids bring out a whole new side of us."

Tony should probably tell him off for that. The shortcut was going to take longer than the direct route by a good fifteen minutes, and that wasn't counting traffic.

What he said instead was, "I think you're going senile. Probably those diet pills. I told you they were a scam. And now your mullet's going to fall out and you'll be thinking to yourself, _god_ , I wish I'd listened to Tony about those diet pills. "

Happy made eye contact with him in the mirror. "I think you're worried, boss. But you're a genius. If anyone can figure out a baby, it's you."

That was a lie. A blatant, unmitigated lie. He could argue this with supporting evidence _for_ his supporting evidence. He was super unqualified for this. In point of fact, _Happy_ would be a better father, and Tony was pretty sure he had a paranoia disorder. No one took _this_ many "shortcuts". Hell, no one _knew_ this many shortcuts.

"Happy, stick to driving. Pep talks aren't really your thing."

"Sure thing, boss."

All the same, the knot in his chest that'd been tightening since he'd picked up the pen and signed his soul away to parenting was a lot more manageable.

Happy smiled to himself. Mr Stark was a lot of things, but he was a good man. He had this in the _bag_.

What _he_ was worried about was the security risks of having a baby. Man oh _man_ did he have a lot of work to do to babyproof the world!

* * *

It was 11am on the Sunday of a cheery twenty-third of November. The sun was taking the piss with how hot it was, _sweltering_ was now in Tony's vocabulary, the birds weren't chirping because he was pretty sure Happy had run one over at the last junction, and he wasn't ready for this.

But he was. But he wasn't though. It was a confusing world in the mind of Tony Stark. He wasn't even buzzed. Maybe he _should_ be buzzed. Why wasn't he buzzed?

"Happy, where's my alcohol?" he asked, staring unblinkingly at the hulking hospital. He'd been told if you look your fears in the eye, they'd back off, but the building was _looming_.

 _Looming._ This wasn't any personification bullshit, he was going to have a panic attack, oh _god—_

Happy whacked him supportively on the back. "You got this, boss."

"Misguided," he said, panic wearing off. "Your faith in me is completely misguided. I think you need to get checked, Happy. You have a very serious, borderline morbid case of delusional. It's worrying."

He walked up to the hospital, leaving Happy like a guard puppy (he'd say dog but his chauffeur was only ever threatening before he opened his mouth) with the car, and definitely didn't count the steps he took.

How he got to the correct hospital room was a blur. He might've asked the nice lady at the reception and stared at her cleavage the whole time; he might've sexually assaulted a plant for information. At this point, he wasn't entirely certain what the difference was between human and amoeba, so it wasn't really anything against Agnes.

"You're early, Mr Stark," said the pleasantly surprised doctor. "We were just getting her fully vaccinated. Is it okay if I ask you to fill out these forms?"

A form about vaccinations, future vaccinations, registration, fees, something about resuscitation, and hospital acquired sepsis. (Yup, this was great. He was never coming to a hospital again. He'd have nightmares about sepsis. Was it really necessary to include pictures of rotting fingers? Why would the human body even _do_ that?)

The doctor hadn't even given him a pen. How rude. Definitely a three-star service.

He flicked out a golden pen from his breast pocket and began answering all the questions to the best of his knowledge. He didn't know what his social security number was, nor did he know what his mother's maiden name was. This was off to a _really_ bad start.

The doctor came back in. Tony didn't look up from the forms. "Do I need to hand these in now, or can I bring them back later?"

"Later's fine, Mr Stark." The doctor sounded indulgent. It reminded him of his mom. Which was never a good thing when he was signing papers. It reminded him of her will. And he didn't really need that right now. Or ever. Preferably ever.

He looked up just as the sun hid behind a cloud. Dear lord it was going to rain. Hot showers were his least favourite thing about Malibu.

Maddison was a chubby baby, if a bit too small, and she had a tiny baby mouth with tiny baby fingers and soft brown hair already curling at the ends. She was blinking at him with surprised brown eyes, as if saying, _wow, strange human. I wonder what he'd taste like in soup._

"I wonder that too," Tony said, and the doctor looked at him like he'd lost his mind. But that was okay because the doctor didn't even have a name. He was a minor character that Tony would never see again.

He reached out for her and held the little girl for the first time, and she immediately started wriggling and getting comfortable, trying to paw his nose off. Lucky for him, it was firmly attached to his face.

Unbidden, a smile creeped onto his face. "No, you can't take my nose. Can't afford to lose too many organs. I've already written off my liver as a lost cause."

She was still blinking at him, but with less surprise, like as if she was saying, _I can totally get your nose, but maybe I'll wait till my arms are a bit longer. Because I'm a Stark and Starks always get what they want._

He was pretty sure the doctor was saying something, but Tony had stopped listening ages ago.

Maddy snuggled into his chest and hit her fist on one of his shirt's buttons. Tony gently took her fist with his pinkie and grinned like a complete lunatic.

* * *

He walked back to the car and lifted Maddy's arm, making it wave to Happy.

"Hiya, Happy, I'm Maddy and I'm the cutest fucking thing on the planet," said Maddy. Tony was just channelling her inner voice. Maddy blinked in agreement, her baby cheeks reddening as the wind picked up.

Happy was beaming in the weird macho way he did, like he was proud but if he showed it the world would implode.

"Hello, Maddy," he cooed, and he made to hold her but Tony was selfish so that wasn't happening.

He sidestepped Happy expertly and got into the car without missing a beat. He was a pro at baby-holding already.

He stared at baby Maddy like a particularly dysfunctional stork. She wriggled, maintaining eye contact with him.

"Okay, there are rules to this," he informed her in what he hoped was a stern voice. "You're not allowed to hate the weather. It's, like, a prerequisite to being a Stark. You can complain about it all you want, but you can't actually hate it. I know, I know, it's a weird rule, but if you complain, people will think you're pretentious, and that's better than them thinking you're too nice. You can't be too nice or they'll eat you alive. But if you secretly like all weathers, then you have one over on them and everything they know about you will be a complete lie, and that means you win. Rule number one, Starks always win."

She opened her tiny mouth as if to interrupt him. He shushed her with a finger. "No, no, no questions until you've developed your vocal chords. Can't have you being a brat before you turn three. There's a precedent, okay?"

She blinked in what Tony assumed was resigned acceptance.

"Another rule is you can't eat screws. They, firstly, taste disgusting, but also because it might kill you. And you've already pulled that stunt once, it isn't happening again. Rule three, you're going to eat what I give you until you can feed yourself. I don't care if you don't like lukewarm tofu, if the baby manual says you like it, it means you like it."

She gave a tiny baby sneeze right in his face.

She was rebelling already.

* * *

Maddison Maria Stark was the tiniest living thing DUM-E had ever seen.

One of the toasters was clicking and telling him that was exaggeration, but it had been malfunctioning since the day it'd been created so it had no room to talk.

She was staring at it with horrified fascination. Tony would be too. In fact, some days, Tony _did_.

"Maddy, meet DUM-E. DUM-E, she's fragile so don't touch. Maddy, he's eleven years older than you so respect him. I mean, I don't, but that's because I created him and he's an idiot. Also, he's a safety hazard. Jarvis, keep an eye on her while I go deal with the press?"

"Will do, sir."

DUM-E reached out a claw for the baby but Jarvis snapped, " _No_. No touching. Mr Stark expressly forbade it five seconds ago."

DUM-E wilted.

One of Maddy's fists escaped her blanket and she touched DUM-E. It clicked in excitement. Maddy cooed. DUM-E clicked even harder.

It was the start to a beautiful friendship.

* * *

The press was parked outside Tony's mansion like pests.

But Tony'd thought this might happen, which is why he'd worn a tailored suit to the hospital. Always dress to impress, even if you're two words away from simultaneously vomiting your intestines and shitting your pants.

Tony thought he was very wise. There was so much wisdom to impart and not enough time to do it in. Maddy would just have to be a quick study.

The minute he stepped out the front door (he'd had the back door installed for a reason), the cameras started clicking away like a dozen distant stars twinkling at him. He smiled winningly and waved like the Queen of England.

"Mr Stark, is it true that—"

"Mr Stark, the country needs to know—"

"—a baby—"

"—your track record…"

Tony shushed them with a wave of his hand. "Guys, guys, one at a time or we'll be here till Christmas."

A smartly dressed blond guy with toothpick teeth quickly asked, "Is it true that you've adopted a kid, Mr Stark?"

"Yes and no."

They all started asking questions at the same time. One of them shouted, "What does that mean?!"

He chose to answer, but drawled for dramatic effect. "Well, it's technically adoption, but she's biologically mine, so it's either or really."

"A girl!?"

"Do you think you're qualified to raise a child, Mr Stark?"

He shrugged. "I was a kid once. How hard can it be?"

One of the female reporters at the front was seething. Something in Tony warmed at the sight. Ah, he did love pissing people off.

"What's her name?"

Tony decided that would be the last question. He would make an official statement later, after his PR guy greenlighted a prewritten speech that he'd only half stick to.

"Take note now. And don't get the spelling wrong, typos are irritating. Maddison Maria Stark," he said, and he'd been going for dramatic but it ended up sounding… _proud_. Huh. It wasn't like she'd done anything to be proud about. Besides breathe and coo, and not cry when Happy made that unnecessary sharp turn at the sixth traffic light on the "shortcut".

By the next morning, every newspaper agency would have an article discussing Tony's integrity, his ability to be responsible, if he should be allowed to have kids, if he was turning over a new leaf, if the mother knew about this, who the mother was, several dozen women across the country claiming they were the mother, a candid blurred shot of Maddy some enterprising reporter had taken as Tony had come out of the hospital, and whether he'd only taken her in because he needed an heir.

In short, everyone was discussing his life like they had a right to, as if their opinion would change his own.

This would be Maddy's life. Tony hoped she wasn't going to be camera shy.

* * *

"I'm not sure you understand," Tony said, glaring at the nanny Pepper had hired. "I'm _paying_ you."

The Latvian woman gave him a dead stare. "I can't be here all the time, Mister Stark. You need to learn how to change diapers."

Maddy was avoiding eye contact, like as if she knew how much trauma she was putting him through. _If I can't see it, it isn't happening._

His daughter was evil. She was going to grow up into a menace.

He pinched his lips and grimaced, taking the proffered nappy with growing trepidation.

"Now, slide it under her—no, not upside down, that's upside down. No, that's still upside down. Now you've folded it into an origami crane!"

Tony was way in over his head.

* * *

 **Review please?**


	4. Absinthe and Svetlana

**'Tony may have had a drinking problem, but at least he didn't have other problems. Apart from that smoking one a few months ago. And that one time he blacked out in Amsterdam. Fuck, maybe he'd have to clean house if this was going to work.' In which Tony has a baby, and is most definitely not ready. But fuck over-preparation. Pre-Ironman. Previously Madly Mathematical.**

 **A/N: This chapter has less going on in it, but I liked it, so here it is. Hope you enjoy Tony's...thoughts? Also, all of Maddy's musings are _definitely_ just Tony.**

* * *

Maddy was staring at him.

Tony was pretty sure she shouldn't be that judgemental at, what, three months? She was on her baby blanket on the floor of his workshop because Jarvis had pointed out that putting her on the work surface was ten kinds of stupid.

In his defence, he was pretty sure, like, five different manuals had told him babies don't even turn over until _at least_ six months. How was he to know squirming might as well be snail-paced marathoning? All she would have managed would've been cracking her skull on his screwdriver, which is neither an epic way to go, nor is it heroic.

If it wasn't either or, he'd informed her, it was beneath her.

"What're you looking at?" he said, calling her out. "Not all of us know the exact decay rate of meitnerium to the last second."

Which is why it'd blown up in his face when he'd started his next experiment. On the bright side, he could totally get enough bismuth to make that explosion happen at a faster rate without wasting anymore of his francium. That shit was hard to find.

DUM-E chose this moment to throw a fire blanket on Tony's head.

"Great timing, Dum-E." He should've made DUM-E understand sarcasm. It was just pathetic how happy he was with that. "Am I neglecting you?"

DUM-E clicked at him emphatically.

"Then stop saying that," chided Tony. "That much hero-worship just makes me feel guilty. It's not a good colour on me. Speaking of colours, Jarvis, what day is it?"

"It's Thursday, sir. Welcome back."

Tony blinked in mild shock. Huh. How long had he been down here?

He took this time to see five empty baby bottles scattered around Maddy's throne, with DUM-E giving her another. She was reaching her tiny fists for it, practically lifting herself off the absinthe blanket.

He walked over to DUM-E and took the bottle from him, lifting Maddy up and feeding her. She was tucked into his arms like a pistachio in its shell.

"Gah!" she squeaked, greedily sucking up the milk. Her dark hair were already curling at the ends, and she was staring at him again.

"Green means I've been here since the fourteenth," he said. "And it's the nineteenth. What am I supposed to be doing again?"

"Well, sir, you've ignored all twenty-five of Miss Potts' calls, you've missed two art gallery openings, a charity gala and the opening ceremony of the Stark Orphanage in the newly renamed Democratic Republic of Congo."

He winced. He hadn't planned on missing that last one. "It's right now, isn't it?"

"Yes, sir. By my calculations, if you were to leave now, you would reach your destination in fifteen hours and thirteen minutes. This is not accounting for the time it would take you to call Mrs Alksnis and her arrival time. In short, sir, you'll be very late, well out of the fashionable allowance."

"I'll update you without your sarcasm, I mean it," said Tony, perfectly aware he wouldn't.

"Of course, sir." And Jarvis knew it too.

He dithered about until Maddy finished her milk and then propped her onto his shoulder, putting her bottle next to the solder roll. He patted her a couple of times and she accommodatingly burped a tiny puff of air. He put her back in his arms and then gave her a scrutinising glance.

She looked back at him with equal scrutiny, as if telling him, _yes, I burp daintily because I am a lady. You're so lucky I haven't cried even once in the last five days while you were completely ignoring me._

"I'm sorry," he said, and the words were easy to say because he was pretty sure she couldn't understand him. If she could, this would be a totally different matter. "Tell you what, maybe I'll get one of those baby slings and then you can coo in my ear when I'm supposed to be concentrating on not blowing stuff up, hm?"

"Sir, I feel that that might be ill-advised."

"Shush, I know what I'm doing." He didn't, but that had never stopped him before.

"Need I remind you that you _just_ blew up highly radioactive chemicals because you neglected to observe basic lab safety?"

He waved Jarvis' perfectly reasonable objection. "That was only the third time. You worry too much."

"I—sir, Miss Potts is at the door."

Oh fuck. He looked at Maddy in panic and she, sensing his distress, smiled at him.

His world froze.

When Potts came in ready with a tirade, she saw her boss staring at his daughter like she held the secrets to the whole universe.

* * *

The last two months had been filled with calls to lawyers, court summons, and wanting to punch the smugness off of Stanley Griffith's smarmy face.

How was he to know Edith Coldman would make good on her threat to file a lawsuit against his delectable ass? It wasn't like he'd gotten to know her in the two weeks she'd been working for him.

Pepper was exasperated with him, but that wasn't anything new.

Now, however, that the lawyers he'd paid a hefty amount of money for something relatively simple had actually done their _job_ , Tony could go back to ignoring the media without being labelled a heartless bastion of degeneracy.

Not that he wasn't, but it was the principle of the thing.

Point was, now that he was no longer under more public scrutiny than usual, he could finally take a well-deserved vacation to the club to get absolutely hammered while the Latvian nanny made sure Maddy didn't crack her head on anything.

Which she wouldn't do. DUM-E was more likely to do something, but there was no nanny in the _world_ that would take up that job.

Not that Tony was hiring, but if he _was_ , no one would be doing it.

That bot had an unhealthy fascination with the fire extinguisher. He blamed Rhodey.

He entered the noisiest club he could find and felt immediately in his element, adrenaline buzzing through him like that one time he took cocaine and couldn't stop pretending to be a hummingbird.

Rhodey liked to pretend it never happened, but the media most certainly didn't. It's a good thing Tony was shameless or it would've been a problem.

He swaggered over to the bar and pointed dismissively at the absinthe, feeling a weird craving for drinking poison, something he should probably look into except he didn't particularly want to get a therapist, especially after the _last_ one told him he was a narcissist.

He _was_ , but that was beside the point.

The bartender poured him a shot and he downed it instantly, asking for another one even as his insides burned.

He surveyed the room and immediately zeroed in on a blonde that looked really difficult to seduce.

Challenge accepted.

Tony sometimes went for the easy ones, but most of the time, cracking the hard ones was so much more _fun_. And he was all about fun.

* * *

What he hadn't anticipated was being completely wasted and still checking his phone constantly. Luckily, blondie hadn't noticed now that he'd got her high on far more tequila than the recommended amount, but this was just ridiculous.

A voice that sounded suspiciously like Jarvis was sardonically telling him that maybe he should have expected this.

Tony was ignoring the fact that he totally knew _why_ he was checking his phone. His brain could kindly forget that he was a father for two fucking minutes so he could get laid, thank you very much.

It wasn't like he was the responsible type _anyway_.

He looked at blondie and said something flirty. She swayed but giggled drunkenly, leaning in for a kiss.

And just as things were getting heated up, his phone vibrated.

On a normal day, he totally wouldn't have noticed.

In fact, he would've gone out of his way to _not_ notice.

He put a finger to blondie's lips and unlocked his phone with practised ease.

"Hello, you've reached the carebear hotline, how much will you be donating?"

"Mister Stark?" said his nanny uncertainly. Well, not _his_ nanny, but his baby's nanny. Which amounted to the same thing because the woman made him lunch whenever she babysat.

"Yes, sweetheart?" he said, ignoring the look of irritation on blondie's face entirely. It wasn't even _close_ to being effective. Pepper was far—

Noooo, he wasn't going to think about his _secretary_ when he was two make-out sections to anal.

"My sister is in hospital now, emergency, and I have to leave. I can wait for five minutes before calling taxi."

Tony ignored blondie, who was now licking his neck.

The DJ decided to turn up the music just then. Everyone seemed more pumped up, and Tony _really_ wanted to stay.

"Give me five, then," he said instead. "God, what do I even _pay_ you for, Svetlana?"

"My name is not Svetlana, Mister Stark."

He pushed blondie off himself and gave her an apologetic smile. But since he was arrogance personified, it just came off as condescending.

"Listen, I've gotta bail, but I had a wonderful time talking about your dog."

She pouted. "I don't haaaaave a dog…?"

"Raccoon, then," he amended, paying his tab and throwing on his shades.

He shouldn't be driving drunk, _really_ , but since when did rules apply to him? Besides, if he could build a functional advanced artificial intelligence nearly blacked out at sixteen, then he could drive a car back home.

That was his reasoning and he was sticking to it.

He nodded at the bouncer, who he was pretty sure was one of Happy's old friends but he didn't have the greatest memory after absinthe, and slid into his car.

* * *

While most people wouldn't drive in the middle of the night with shades on, Tony wasn't one of them. He was outside the box, so outside in fact that he could probably not even find his way back into it if he tried.

Why was he thinking about boxes again?

Oh, whoops, he just ran a red light. In his defence, it was kind of orange, and carrots have those green things sticking out at the top, so it was _nearly_ green.

Which made it a green light for Tony, because he was awesome.

Parallel parking was beyond him when he was sober. But he got this unnecessary _need_ to parallel park his car in his own driveway.

 _Don't question it_ , he told himself, just giving into the urge with all the caution of a gay giraffe. Or Ace Ventura.

Hehe, pet detective. Waaaait, didn't _he_ have a pet raccoon? Or was it a tiny monkey?

What was it with people and tiny monkeys?

"Maybe _I_ should get a tiny monkey…"

He parallel-parked so well he should've gotten an Oscar for it. Not that there was a category for parallel-parking, but maybe he should get one instated.

What it really boiled down to was, Tony deserved an Oscar.

He looked less drunk than he was as he walked through the front door. "Evening, Jarvis," he slurred dutifully.

"Good evening, sir. Mrs Alksnis is waiting for you in the private drawing room."

"Thanks, Jar. Hey, are there any enchiladas in the fridge?" he asked, walking swiftly to the living room.

"No, sir. Would you like me to order some?"

"You're a gem," he said. "I think I might have heartburn."

But he chose to ignore the burning in his chest in favour of dramatically bursting into the drawing room he brought people into when he didn't like them.

Not that he didn't like Svetlana, but she hadn't made it to his inner list, and he was pretty sure if he ever got paranoid enough, he'd have more than just Jarvis monitoring her every move.

He didn't trust easy. It wasn't the absinthe talking. He'd given her access to the second kitchen, but that was about it.

"Honey, I'm home!" he said, grin affixed on his face.

The Latvian nanny looked unamused. Maddy was in her arms, silently staring at her nanny's mole. She didn't even flinch at Tony's loud entrance, so used to Metallica blaring through the speakers in the workshop.

Her expression, Tony was certain, was saying, _how is that even allowed on a face? Poor thing needs cosmetic surgery for that. But I'm perfect because Starks are perfect. Also, my skin is awesome, thanks for noticing_.

"You're welcome, sugarplum."

"What?" asked his nanny, before choosing not to question it. "Well, Mister Stark, I have fed Maddison and changed her diapers. I will be taking my leave now."

"Say hi to your sister from me," he said as he took Maddy from her hands.

She gave him a flat look. "She's in a coma."

Huh. "Say hi to your _comatose_ sister, then."

She gave him a thoroughly disgusted look and walked out the door, and then out of his house.

Compassion wasn't really his thing.

Maddy gurgled in agreement, reaching her tiny arms up to touch his face curiously, a tiny smile on her face.

Tony was completely drunk, and he was horny.

He should've cared more about that then he did.

"Far more trouble than you're worth, you know that? I do _not_ enjoy cold showers. Boiling hot or nothing, but _no_ , you have to be entirely dependent on a human adult so now I can't even fuck anyone. Silly Maddy."

She gurgled, as if saying, _well, you didn't expect me not to turn your world upside down, did you? I'm a girl, and I'm a commitment. Duh I was going to mess up your life, and I don't care._

Tony grinned, kissing her forehead and carrying her up to the roof.

He talked his voice out about literally anything that came to mind, from dancing polar bears to a love story between his tiny screwdriver and the sentient toaster, collapsed in a drunken heap next to Maddy's attentive gurgling self, and she yawned, patted her father's messy hair, and joined him.

It was a good thing Pepper showed up in the morning when she did, or Tony would've puked all over his daughter.

It wasn't the first time Maddy messed up his plans.

It was a good thing Tony didn't mind, or that could've been a problem.

The empty was less empty somehow.

* * *

 **Yay for the sentient toaster! Blondie made it home safely, if anyone's curious. Mrs Alksnis' first name is actually Ksenija, but Tony doesn't care. Thoughts?**


End file.
